In this, Shannon's book succeeds. "A Thousand Sisters" has the ah-ha moment that launches its narrator from the couch in her hip neighborhood to the Democratic Republic of Congo. It has the digestible (in the author's narrative) and the repulsive (in survivors' stories) context that the reader needs to understand Congo's present day and its history in Rwanda's and Sudan's relative shadows. And it offers the satisfaction of real successes, including Shannon's Run for Congo Women, which promise the same for any reader called to action.

"A Thousand Sisters" doesn't stand on its compelling topic alone. Shannon is not a professional writer, but her book displays a writer's pacing and language. Her re-creation of a conversation with a Congolese contact is appropriately awkward, both because of its topic and because it's happening over the roar of a boat motor. Shannon has a self-deprecating humor, especially useful in this type of story, and she incorporates in her own patterns the particular vocabulary of the Congolese she meets.

Shannon times small details, full chapters, and transitions to maximize the points that are actually important and minimize what too easily and incorrectly could have become the focus. And she seems to have a sixth sense about when a reader may lift an eyebrow, adding at just the right time a quote from someone who doubts her motives or efforts, or better yet, a story of her particular failure or her own clumsy thoughts.

Some readers will want more information about what U.S. financial sponsors, Shannon included, and their Congolese "sisters" wrote in letters to one another; some will want more explanation of how Shannon made some of the Congolese contacts she did; some will feel her book could have been even more focused on women and their problems beyond the (tragically) obvious violence of rape. But we also don't want too much Shannon. And we don't want too telescopic a view of this complex and long-ignored situation.

At its absolute best, "A Thousand Sisters" illuminates this -- when we stop ignoring Congo, we don't start noticing mere victims. When she's back in Portland, Shannon gets calls from people she's met, including a terrifying militia leader. But, and that's the key conjunction for Shannon, the calls are just as often jokes from her Congolese driver. Yes, his phone minutes are precious, but he'll still spend some to make a prank call halfway around the world. Of course this person will -- wouldn't any of us?